


Lame Demon's Tales

by justmariamay



Series: Kyrie Eleison [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelcest, Biblical References, Big Brother Michael, Clueless Michael, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fallen Angels, Gen, Heartbreak, Jealous Lucifer, LITERALLY, Last Kiss, Other, Pre-Fall, Requited Love, Unrequited Love, love to hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 20:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3182210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justmariamay/pseuds/justmariamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asmodeus broke his leg in the Fall and it never quite healed. But at least he didn't have his heart broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scapegoat

Asmodeus likes love stories. He likes watching them, likes telling them and of course creating them. He was a 'cupid' after all and he thinks not much changed since the fall, not for him. Former Cherub still does his job, the only difference is that he doesn't have rules anymore. And his tastes... they've always been a bit unorthodox. Adam and Eve? Boring. Adam and Lilith? Better, but still boring. Caine and Lilith? Yes, please. He liked messing around, tying together people not meant for each other: freaks and beauties, old and young, smart and stupid, sinners and righteous, poor and rich - the list is endless. Why does he do that? Because humans don't deserve happiness. Anything else like love, passion, pleasure, pain - Asmodeus provides it gladly, he is a generous demon.

Sometimes he gets carried away, but it's totally worth it. Well, one of his greatest escapades failed due to a certain angel. Archangel to be precise. Who would've thought that Raphael can be such a good matchmaker? But damn he could do that forever: killing off every Sarah's husband on the wedding night right before newlyweds could get to the best part. It was fun. But no matter how bold and venturous Asmodeus was, he wasn't a fool to stand against the archangel. Especially Raphael. Too bad his leg slowed his retreat. But Raphael was merciful. Of course he was. Of course he let his little crippled fallen brother flee. He had seen how hardened Raphael became, how sad and very, very scary. Asmodeus almost thanked God that Raphael didn't smite him, but God didn't have anything to do with that. It was all Raphael's clemency. But Asmodeus was far too curious to leave without seeing the end. And the end was beautiful. Happy and beautiful. So happy he wanted to vomit. It was strange to see Raphael by mortal's side guiding, caring and healing. It was more like Raphael he remembered, though never once he smiled.

So, it was a story Asmodeus has been telling Lucifer through the walls of his cage to entertain the devil, when he noticed Azazel is here and listening too. It is weird because Azazel doesn't exactly remember Raphael. Hell, he doesn't remember he was an angel once too. The only reminder was gold in his eyes, precious color, that belonged to Heaven. Oh, isn't it a great opportunity to irritate the vicious fiend?

"What is it, Azazello? Liked the story?" Asmodeus asked teasingly.

"Why didn't the archangel kill you?" Azazel sounded very disappointed. He is hovering over smaller demon threateningly, but after close encounter with Raphael Asmodeus legitimately considers himself immortal.

"I certainly deserved it. But why would he kill me if he didn't kill you?" the mischievous demon grinned. Azazel looked pensive for a moment, probably trying to remember his fight with archangel. Asmodeus didn't see that battle per se, but he wasn't too far away, he remembers the scorched earth moving underneath, remembers himself trying to muffle Azazel's screams for mercy desperately covering his ears with his shaking hands. He suddenly realizes that Lucifer became quieter in his prison. It isn't a good memory for any of them, but very significant one. He suspects it is the same for Raphael.

"Speaking of which, I'm in a mood to tell another story. It's a good one. Care to hear, my prince?" he addressed Lucifer.

"Sure, why not," even his true voice is hushed by those walls, but if Asmodeus understands the concept of this prison right, Lucifer hears everything that is being said in Hell.

Azazel doesn't look too thrilled though.

"What's with the sour look, Azazello? You are the protagonist," he wiggled his eyebrows.

Azazel folds his arms and pretends he's not interested, but doesn't leave.

"Once upon a time... oh, screw this. You know, Azazel, I actually liked you..."

* * *

We were good friends, you and I. Back then you treated me kindly, as an equal despite my lower rank and younger age. We talked a lot: about God, about the world, trying to guess why the earth was made round and not flat and many other things. And of course we didn't evade the favorite topic of any angel lower than seraph namely _'Who is your favorite archangel?'_. It wasn't about who you loved more, rather which one was your role model, who you wanted to become. Usually it was easy to predict the answer. You always knew I threaded in Gabriel's steps, he was popular among Cherubs. Most of the Virtues were charmed by modest Raphael. The mighty Michael, well... the first archangel had small but intriguing circle of adorers, all seven Seraphs and for example Lailah were among them... Yes, yes, the she-angel. But probably every second angel of all age wouldn't hesitate to point at shining Morningstar as their favorite and I counted you as one of them. But you surprised me when you said you chose the healer as your exemplar... 

What are you scowling at, Azazello? You did say it!

Anyway, it didn't make any sense at first. Yes, everyone loved Raphael, hell everyone loved everyone. I just didn't see anything common between you two. The way you talked and carried yourself reminded mostly Lucifer. So, I became very curious, because you didn't offer me any explanation, and I started to watch Raphael closer, much closer than before, but I guess it couldn't compare to the way you watched her... him... doesn't matter. No, don't interrupt me. It's rude.

 It took me some time but in the end I got it figured out, when I overheard one of your conversations. No, I didn't eavesdrop, who are you taking me for?

...

Alright, I did, but that's not the point. What I was going to say, Azazel, is that you and Raphael had similar view of world, the way of thinking... You see, the archangels were very different, generally it was like this: Gabriel was a merry-maker, Lucifer was a poet and Raphael was a philosopher, a complicated mind. Just. Like. You.

What? Michael? Hmmm, Michael was Michael, for no better word to describe him. Right, Lucifer?

...

...

I think, you need to wash your mouth, brother. And none of it is true. Would you two stop interrupting me for heaven's sake?! Uh, sorry... for hell's sake, of course.

You and Raphael, Azazello, were the smart ones. Not ones to look for easy ways, but you know yourself, so I won't waste my breath praising you. Funny, that you had been hiding that part of your nature, or maybe it just Raphael who brought it in you. I had learned it from your oh so fascinating discussion about the primates. By the way Raphael guessed right which of them would evolve the way God wanted them to. 

But it didn't really sated my curiosity. It just didn't felt like all you've had with Raphael were occasional talks. At first I thought I was imagining things. But after a while when you fell from that tree I just knew it. You were in love. I even invented an expression 'to fall in love'.

Don't laugh. It wasn't funny. As much as I like making love a joke, love between angels is anything but. I would know, I've seen enough of it. It's a tragedy, because God never approves it. Because God never intended angels to be happy. She saved happiness and freedom for mortals, leaving us justice and service. But...

Your fall from the tree though was ridiculous, so not like you. It was my idea really, I wanted to show you jay's nest. It was also my idea to push you from the branch we were sitting on. I swear it was pure accident that in that exact momen Raphael was passing by with armful of leaves. You didn't hurt yourself... much. Anyway, Raphael was a genious, even though back then we only started to develop our powers. I'd never seen you more embarrassed, all ruffled up like a sparrow, red and yellow leaves in your hair and feathers. And Raphael found it funny too, though he was startled at first, he laughed so genuinely. He was adorable trying not to laugh and failing miserably while fixing your dislocated shoulder. I bet if you weren't so captivated you'd be proud of yourself, because usually it was Gabriel's privilege. To be honest I was hypnotized as well, Raphael was beautiful, and so were you, when you took his hand and dragged him down. It was impudent and totally disrespectful, but I guess at that moment you didn't think about anything other than your sweet archangel. I left you alone then, I had some sense of shame once.  And watching such intimate yet pure moments is way more embarrassing than dirty ones. 

You two were happy just the way you were. If only it was forever. Things changed when God greeted new inhabitants of Eden. We changed. Suddenly we were starving for love, suddenly all that we had wasn't enough. Watching Adam and Eve didn't help of course.

You began to want more than Raphael could give you, holding hands, measured embraces, chaste forehead kisses wouldn't sate you anymore. It wasn't your fault. It was like some disease had struck all Seven Heavens, a desire within we couldn't name. We all tried to stifle it at first, but it only grew stronger. 

You were told the rest of the story not once: we rebelled, Michael cast us down, you started using humans in our war and God punished you, Azazel. Or maybe he punished Raphael, I don't know. It certainly was intended to be some kind of lesson, after all I'm sure it was healer's first battle, had to mean something. The only lesson I've learned from it is called 'Don't fuck with Raphael', pardon my Enochian. Well, none of us would've thought he was that powerful.

Still the question stands. Why didn't he kill you? He burnt and cut off your wings, he drained your grace. Death would be a mercy and Raphael knew it. And yet here you are, without wings, without memories.

I wonder, do you even imagine, what you have lost?

* * *

Azazel doesn't answer. Asmodeus wonders what's going on in his head. There is some hope that at least for a moment he would remember, but then Azazel just laughs him in the face.

"Ha, what an interesting novelette, snake. Someone here has very luxuriant imagination. Did you really think I would buy it?" and with that the Scapegoat leaves and who cares why he came in the first place.

Asmodeus hears or rather feels Lucifer sneer.

"Think it's funny, beloved brother?" he asks seriously.

"Maybe so," very ironical in the very least. "I find more hilarious that tomorrow our dear obdurate Azazel won't even remember this conversation ever took place at all. And you, Lucifer, will envy him, because while his heart is broken, he won't remember he ever had one. "

Taunting the Satan isn't his brightest idea, but the cage is foolproof, heavenly work and all that, so Asmodeus limps away not fearing for his little unimportant, but very entertaining life.


	2. Heaven's a Lie

Asmodeus… Asmodea this time is standing in the middle of poorly made demon trap. There are candles lighting the dark room without windows. She’s probably underground. Someone’s been calling devil again, it seems. And oops! She’s naked. Well, she spent half of her life wearing nothing but her skin, so she has no wish to materialize some drag to cover her pale body. Now, who’s the unfortunate soul?

“Hello there, father,” she greets gleefully a man in priestly garb, “I wasn’t aware it’s time for confession. I’m afraid I’ve sinned too much, the rest of your life won’t be enough to hear it all.”

“Are you the devil?” he asks frostily, her nudeness doesn’t abash him.

“What do you think?” it’s not the first time she has to play Lucifer’s role, after centuries she got used to it.

“I asked you a question, in the name of the Lord I order you to answer!” Asmodea was called not by a sinner, but by a righteous fanatic, what a joy! Really, those are fun to deal with.

“Devil? Satan? I’m often called by those names,” her sensual lips widen in wicked green. “My turn to ask, father. What is that you want? What does your heart desires the most? I can give you everything, for a price of course.”

“I’m not giving you my soul,” he sounds resolved.

“Then why am I here? This thing won’t hold me long, all your spell and prayers are useless,” well, the prayers might help, if he knows to whom he should offer his prayers.

 “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, because Lord doesn’t respond. I thought you might have the answers,” now he’s a bit more unassuming, not ordering her around. “But first, I’d like you to cover yourself.”

“What is it, father? Is there anything I should be ashamed of?” her body is flawless, as much perfect as human body can be. “Or do I tempt you?” she purrs.

“No,” he replies.

“Then I see no problem with my looks. What answers have you been praying your God for? What questions plague your restless mind? You want to know if the Earth is the center of universe? Or are you looking for philosophers' stone? Do you want to taste the Devil's Elixirs?” Scholars ask countless questions but not the important ones.

“No, Satan. I want to know why you have condemned us to our lot.”

She can’t help laughing in his sad face.

“ _I_ condemned _you_? It was your God. All I did were few holes in your fragile vessels, but what nice holes they are…” she taunts the priest.

“Don’t lie, you Snake,” ah, that’s what he refers to.

“Uh-uh-uh, my part in that is exaggerated, father. That’s all your lousy nature. You were given a free will, a choice, and you made a wrong one. End of story.” Oh, mortals, they only need someone to blame. Why did Father give them freedom, if they can’t accept the consequences? Oh, of course they think they would have done better than their ancestors, self-delusion in its finest.

“Then what exactly was your part in the fall of man?” he begins to fear, she can see it in his eyes, in slight tremor of his hand in which he’s holding the rosaries.

“Do you really want to know? I’d suggest you to run while your trifling tricks are working. I only wish you well, father. You see, if I tell you that story, you’ll die before night is over.”

“Then so be it. Tell me.”

That makes Asmodea to look at miserable man differently; she smiles and comes closer, dragging the damaged leg ignoring the discomfort. She walks until she reaches the very edge drawn with charcoal.

“Is that bravery or curiosity? Or maybe you hope your so-called faith is going to save you? Either way, I can respect that. I love folly. See now? That’s exactly what condemned your kind.”

Why not? Why not to tell this stupid man the truth? Why not reveal to him the flaws of his Lord? Why not open his eyes to the lie he calls Heaven? It’s the last thing he’s going to hear anyway, she won’t let him share it with anyone else.

“Get comfortable, father, it’s time to lift the haze of faith from your eyes,” she sinks on the cold stone floor, hugs her knees instead of spreading them like she would do any other time and stares into the flame of candle in further corner of the room, forgetting the human hovering over her, remembering the Paradise…

* * *

 

My brother told me once that everything is done in certain order, that there is a balance to every kind of matter. Back then I easily understood it, because it was as simple as that. He taught me, that everything is bound to end one way or another to keep that balance. But I didn’t believe him when he said that we are going to disappear too. I said him that it wasn’t fair, because we were life, we were perfect, we were beautiful… He answered that nothing comes and goes without leaving a trace, that we won’t disappear completely. And still I was scared. I wanted to prove him wrong, but I didn’t know how. Many of my brothers and sisters didn’t take those words seriously, but not me. They still ring in my ears, my brother’s voice, quiet but strong, and frank. Ah, Michael… I often wonder if he knew what was going to happen, but always come to conclusion that he didn’t. He wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t blind, but his perception was somewhat twisted.

When God was creating you it seemed like fun at first, hairless apes, that were so weak: they couldn’t run fast, they didn’t have long claws or sharp teeth, all their senses were dulled, they couldn’t see far enough, they couldn’t hear most part of the music that the world is… should I continue? Pathetic little things, you were almost cute. But then He gave you everything with one condition: avoid the damned tree. Everything was yours. His endless love. Eden. Freedom. Us.

That was the moment I thought that this is it, our time came to an end. I was asking myself why, until the answer hit me: you didn’t have a special purpose, because you were a purpose. He built the world for you, he made us build it. It hurt, Father. It hurt so badly.

I wasn’t the only one who came to the same conclusion. But it all became obvious, when Father ordered us to kneel before you. At first we couldn’t understand what it means, we never kneeled before. Yes, we served, but that kind of thing was never demanded from us before. Then Michael sank to his knees, head lowered, wings folded, eyes downcast… how easily he did that! And such… such submission. That sight… I’d never seen Michael more beautiful and never hated him more. He shouldn’t have done it. Not him, not him. You know, we had never actually seen our Father, only heard his orders and felt his warmth. We loved him more than anything, yes, but Michael was special. He was the one who raised us, who cared for us, who taught us everything. Too bad that only few of us could see it.

Now I understand that Michael probably didn’t see that certain act as anything that matters, but then it seemed like an end of the world to me. One by one angels kneeled, how glad I was to see that Isaiah the Morning Star stood aside and didn’t move, that all seven seraphs stood in doubt and some of the angels too. Well, it was a first sign that gone mostly ignored. Only after that God put two of his most trusted angels to watch over the Garden, Camael and Gadreel.

Then it was calm for a while. We acted like we forgot that we were not loved anymore. But preparations were being made. Rebellion… there was no such word back then. But we gathered together often and discussed our options. We couldn’t let it be ignored forever. I often was in the Garden and I noticed that not once Adam caught himself staring at the tree of knowledge. It made me wonder…

Anyway the watchful guards were a problem, so loyal to their duty. If only we could win over Michael. Truth is that most of us wanted him as our leader. Don’t look so surprised, father. Michael had more reasons to rebel than any of us, at least I have reasons to believe so. And for some time things were normal, nothing happened yet. So I was watching, and, oh father, the things I saw... In the end it was love and jealousy that ended the static wavering, that split Heavens in two.

Once I noticed something curious, when I came for a… let’s call it music lesson. I was sitting between beautiful Inoel and little Anael who were listening to Gabriel’s messy explanations of Paradise poetry and how Raphael would criticize it every now and then not even bothering to lift her head from Azazel’s shoulder. It was interesting but my eyes caught something in the further part of cypress grove.

There were Michael and Gadreel talking about something. They did it very quiet, almost whispering into each other’s ears. I couldn’t hear a word. Michael seemed… off, tired, leaning heavily to the tree, Gadreel was obviously agitated. Michael turned around to leave, but Gadreel grabbed his hand to stop him. I was surprised how easily he forced the archangel to face him. The guard spoke again, but Michael hushed him and shook his head in negation. Gadreel looked at him like he would never see him again. He lifted Michael’s hand to his face and kissed an opened palm reverently. It was long seconds before he finally let him go and Michael disappeared.

And guess what? Gadreel and Michael never saw one another after that tender exchange. Later that day we learned from Samael that Michael was banned from Eden. The Lord didn’t trust his first son, how is that? Seraphs started to discuss how they should explore it, when I blurted out about the earlier incident. Maybe you should blame not me, but my chatty nature.

To say that Isaiah was angry would be an understatement; he’d been walking the thin line and I suppose that his possessiveness finally pushed him over the edge. His adoration for Michael and hatred towards humans were no secret. And it was a day when he openly stated his position before the Lord, we all heard that inspiring speech. Of course Father gave him time to change his mind, because he loved him so. But the second archangel spent that time acting not thinking.

I was told to wait when Isaiah and Samael went to make the last attempt to bring Michael to our cause. I’m glad I didn’t witness that part, but I was told how it happened. I can imagine Isaiah sweetly asking ‘ _Do you love me, brother?_ ’ tearing up a handful of Michael’s feathers. Most angels can’t fly when they lose even one feather, Michael wasn’t most, but I saw the damage firsthand a bit later. Awful.

Everything else was very simple. Samael presented Gadreel a fistful of feathers which could belong to only one angel, it was enough to provoke Gadreel and make him forget his holy duty, Camael was also distracted and I and Isaiah made our way into the heart of Eden. He crawled up the tree; all I had to do was lead Eve and Adam to it. They made a decision. No one forced them. No one put the cursed fruit into their hands. You know the rest of your story.

Here is the end of our story. Gadreel was shackled and isolated never given a chance. The fearful silences hang. And then His voice thundered over us. His orders were clear, His tone grim. Michael appeared later with tattered wings and pushed the flaming sword into Camael’s trembling hands.  

You were condemned. We were condemned too. Because of you, because we proved Him wrong about you. And we paid. See this? Sometimes I can't walk at all. Every bone in it was shattered. Pain was horrible, but the worst part was that my dear gentle brother did this to me, that my Father whom I worshipped had ordered him to do this. We were misguided, decieved. Our creator saw us as mere tools and how wrathful he was, when He realized we could defy His absolute will. We only thought He loved us...

* * *

 

“How was that, father? Now I’m asking you: why your kind condemned us to _our_ lot?”  Asmodea crosses the line resetting all the divine powers around, extinguishing the candle lights. In the pitch darkness her yellow eyes shine like two moons, mysterious, predacious and ancient. She took priest’s face in her hands and then snapped his neck in one swift movement. Too much violence is not her style after all.

Giving a dazzling smile to a reaper that came to collect poor sod’s soul, she-devil left the room, which happened to be some cell in the dungeon. She knew that it was a holy place above, she wasn’t comfortable, but it didn’t repel her. She found the ladder after half an hour.

It happened to be a monastery. Isn’t that a reason to stay for few nights? Tormenting young novices and hardened monks is always a challenge. She makes herself invisible and walks the hallways without making noise. She stops in the mess hall and looks up the walls and ceiling examining the frescoes.

Her eyes spot the Supreme right above her and she gives the image her cheekiest grin. He watches absurd portraits of saints and her brothers and cruel longing is taking her over. She turns around to see the picture of Judgment Day. Sinners are carried away to Hell and righteous to Heaven, God and Virgin Mary are above, there are also an angel with the trumpet, Gabriel, and somewhat lonely figure of the Chief Commander himself in the center of composition.  

“Hello, beloved,” she reveals herself and even her faded wings, “how have you been? I was thinking about you a lot today.”

Michael looks strict here, no usual serene look artists tend to give him, mouth set in thin line and dark eyes are inexorable, full of reproach and grief. Suddenly her leg is pierced with sharp pain in all damned places it was broken and she hisses in anguish. She screws eyes shut and falls before him, then she opens her eyes to meet that fearsome gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that, please,” she asks meekly and then continues an imaginary dialog, “I’m not going to lie, not to you. I miss you, Michael. No, I mean it. Why? Maybe because it’s been seven thousand years and millions in Hell? And still time runs so fast. Me? I’m doing great, all the usual you know. I won’t say I’m sorry, because I’m not. Will you believe if I say that I have never felt sad at all? Home’s a lie. Heaven’s a lie, brother. So… maybe you should leave it and come to us? Falling down is not scary, just hurts like Hell, ha-ha. Ah, well… at least come and see me some time,” she holds her breath and feels a light flow of air passes through her hair and feathers like invisible fingers.

Asmodea shakes her head dispelling the illusion, stands up, sends the painted warrior a kiss and steps into the darkness looking for her next victims. Time to put this body to good use.     


	3. Petrified

Someone is summoning Asmodeus. Wrong time. Asmodeus watches Rome burn, nor for the first time, nor for the last. It is indeed a glorious sight but he doesn't feel like reading poetry. City of slaves, abandoned women and cripples.  And constant source of black souls. Ah, well… he’ll enjoy it next time. And there will be the next time.

He comes to call to find it was Lilith, who’s wanted to see him so much. What a delightful company. Bitch.

“No need for traps and spells, my dear whore. Or what, are you afraid of little old me?” She should be, really. But she just smiles seductively and erases one line with her bare foot. Body she occupies now is stunning, too bad Asmodeus can see her own face behind olive skin, black brows and precious lips.

“So, what’s the occasion? Why would the terrible princess of Hell feel a need in me, her humble uncle?”

“Stop your buffoon act. We are going to have a serious conversation, you and I,” Ooh, a serious conversation… with him? Stupid girl. There are better options with whom she could have ‘serious’ talks. But isn’t that curious?

“If you’d be a little more specific, sweetheart…” but she cuts him off with a curt reply.

“Samael.”

_Samael?_

“Oh, really? Because I don’t think I’m ready to that kind of serious, dolly.” That’s a dangerous topic. If Samael knows… he doesn’t want to think about it, he has enough of Hell as it is.

“Yes, really,” ah, looks like Lilith is aware that she is treading hostile territory. Not that Asmodeus doesn’t like these games, he’ll play along for now.

“Why?” he watches her expectantly pretending he has no idea. She’s nervous, almost scared. Asmodeus also knows that she wholeheartedly hates Samael. Funny how many humans believe that she and Samael are lovers, he’d like to see how that would work. Well, many believe that Samael and Lucifer along with Asmodeus is one fallen angel.

“You know why,” she answers annoyed.

“Oh, I know. I just want to be sure _you_ know why, sweetheart,” he teases her. She doesn’t know what she’s getting into.

“I want to know everything, any tiny detail!” Uhuh, more like something she can use against him. Naïve foolish little whore, it’s cute.

“Oh, Lilith, Lilith, you are no match for him. To him you are nothing more than useless baby killing bloodsucking wretch, and honestly, it’s better for you to be just ignored.”

She pouts.

“He doesn’t ignore me! He meddles in my affairs!” she really believes Samael cares in whose affairs he meddles, he does whatever he wants. With Lucifer caged, Samael is most powerful among the fallen, though he’s not much of an enemy to humanity itself, he antagonizes Heavens on very hazardous level.

“Should I remind you that he _is_ an angel and you are a demon, sweetheart?” Asmodeus himself is not an angel anymore, not really. His wings are undamaged, but he stopped bothering to ask permission to use human bodies long ago. His bow can easily kill now and his eyes shine with gold. But Samael is a little different story.

“So what? I’ve killed angels!” Lilith doesn’t give up.

“With great difficulty and tons of cannon fodder, as I recall. And Samael is a seraph, not a common two or four-winged servant. Actually, he has ten wings, when other seraphim have six. Draw some conclusions, dolly, I’m sure your bright pretty head can do that. Challenging him directly is a suicide, a painful one too. And stabbing in the back won’t work too, because he’s a master of this tactic,” Asmodeus is pretty sure Samael invented the backstabbing.

“He can’t be invincible,” she still is not appeased.

“Sure he can. You know, your only hope to get him out of picture is that Michael may finally kill him off, sooner or later.” It’s not a sure bet, but number of confrontations between these two is impressive.  Angels of death, one leads souls to Heaven, the other to Hell, it’s no wonder they clash so often over some soul. But it’s not just that, getting under Michael’s skin has become Samael’s idee fixe: if he meddles in someone’s affairs deliberately it would be Michael’s.

Lilith is impatient. She wants to rule in Hell, and she never hid her intentions. She believes that if she overthrows Samael she’ll do the trick. Power, people are so obsessed with it, and demons are little different from humans they once was. And the funniest part they don’t even know what power is. Lilith is smarter than most people though. She sits on the decent looking bed, her eyes sparkle unkindly, but the smile on her lips is most charming.

“What is that thing he always carries with him that looks like a dirty stone? Can you tell me at least that?”

_Dirty stone?_ Suddenly his wings flare up aggressively. Damn it! He knows better than react like that. And Lilith notices his agitation.

“It’s something important, isn’t it?” she presses.

It is. It’s Samael’s greatest treasure which he doesn’t value enough. The closest thing to Heaven the fallen have left, no matter how filthy and tarnished it became on Earth and in Samael’s hands.

“None of your business,” he replies coldly. He needs to get away before she traps him again. But his wretched leg is burning with crippling pain, and he can’t take off.

“Come on, darling. Have a sit, have a kiss and tell me what you know,” no way in Hell.

“I better stand, thank you,” he doubts he’ll be able to stand up if he sits now. “Leave it alone, dolly. Safer that way. It’s of no use to you,” he warns her. And even if it is it’ll destroy her. Which is not too bad, but no.

 “Why is that?” she feels she has the upper hand here. Maybe he should kill her. Lucifer won’t appreciate it, but it’s not like he would be too sad. And she is strong for demon, just like Cain, not easy to destroy. And yet Asmodeus has few deadly arrows in his quiver.

“I will say no more,” he barely recognizes his own voice heavy with threat and ice.

“Hmm, you are not as simple and stupid as you want to seem,” it’s time for her to realize that. “Fine, I guess I’ve learned more than I hoped for anyway,” and her black soul leaves the borrowed body, whose owner immediately falls on her knees and black poisoned blood flows from her pretty little mouth.

He looks at the body, the broken vessel and anger consumes him. He swears he’ll kill little bitch, when they meet again. Lilith used his sister like a meatsuit. Inoel, even fallen, is too damn trusting, his sweet big sister. Lucifer and Samael both are going to hear about it and Asmodeus doubts they’ll tolerate it.

He helps her to stand and winces at the sight of her wings, what left of them. White bare bones. They are still strangely beautiful and suit her in the most terrifying way. Almost every fallen has some irreversible damage: Asmodeus broke his leg, Inoel had her wings burned to the bones, Ietarel lost his sight completely, Ananel’s skin melts under the sunlight, Azazel lost his fucking mind, Lucifer burns cold and so on. And it makes them beautiful in a way humans can never understand.

“Why did you let that wench in, Inoel?” he asks gently as he wipes her mouth with the corner of his cloak.

“She said she loved me,” she answers simply. And of course she believed her. After all this time Inoel should know better than to trust such words.

“Has she learned something from you?”

“No. Because I don’t know, I can’t remember.” Because she wasn’t there.

But yes, it’s their common illness. Oblivion. The separation from Heave has left them deaf to the voices of their brethren, to the voice of their Father, and they started to forget. Some less, some more. Some like Lucifer and Samael never forgot, but their memories became twisted. Asmodeus doesn’t really knows why he holds to the memory he still has, he can’t remember even a line from all the hymns he once sang, but those little unimportant things like what flower Raphael had in her hair the first time she had to treat his little injuries, how warm was Lucifer’s hand when he took him for the first flight, how bright was Anael’s smile when she dragged Inoel and Sachiel into that crazy dance under the moon. And he also remember how Camael prayed to Father in vain to forgive Gadreel, how Jegudiel screamed in agony for three days before he died, what color were Zachariah’s eyes when he smiled so cruelly and just smashed the…  Ha-ha. The bittersweetness makes Asmodeus smile.

Asmodeus takes Inoel’s hand in his and offers:

“I can remind you, sister.” She’ll forget it soon anyway, but he will remember just a little longer.

She nods and they lie on the bed together like two lonely kids desperate for warmth.

* * *

Do you remember, sister, when we were happy? We didn’t know sorrow. Sometimes we could be a little upset when our older siblings would scold us, but they never hurt us. Remember how watchful the seraphim were? Nothing would escape their eagle eyes. They were seven of them back then: Jegudiel, Barakiel, Tiriel, Sion, Ariel, Zachariah and the eldest and most powerful among them Samael. And all seven were born leaders. They shone so bright that they common presence could overshadow the Morning Star himself. And their graces would always clash against each other, not aggressively, not yet.

They certainly were the most responsible angels, strict but kind. Remember Zachariah? I do. I remember him too well. He once whacked me to the back of my head (which I deserved), but then smiled upon me so fondly and I couldn’t help but smiling back. A rose with the thorns he was… no, more like a lily among the thorns. A white lily. Now those petals are stained with blood if they are still there by any chance.

He and Samael definitely shared a special bond. It was subtle, but they never tried to hide it. I can’t really say anything more than they loved each other a little too much. And even _that_ I learned when it was too late. Seraphim… I could never figure them out, really, too complicated. You know yourself, that angels are like an open book with pictures, and archangels are charmingly simple beings too. But look at seraph and try to guess what he has in mind.

When it’s all said and done you realize that you’ve noticed it, that it really was there. How silver eagle would land on Samael’s arm or how golden lion would lay his head on Zachariah’s lap and he would be annoyed but still would pet him. ‘My angel’, that’s how Zachariah was calling Samael. Indeed, they belonged to each other, while belonging to all of us.

I’m glad you weren’t there, Inoel. I didn’t want to be there, but I just couldn’t move from the spot. The end was unfolding quickly, when it was obvious something really bad was going to happen. For the first time I felt scared. You had to feel it too, right, sister?

All seven seraphim were there before me, six of them just learned what we had done. And while five were confused, one was angry. No, none of them cared for Adam and Eve, but Gadreel, Camael and Michael… it wasn’t what any of us really wanted. Or was it? I don’t know.

Lucifer was already standing before Father, and I stuck there wishing I was invisible, but there was no way to hide from eyes on Zachariah’s wings. He was angry at humans for their stupidity, angry at Father for putting so much faith in them, but most of all he was angry at Samael for betraying his trust. His grace was saying it all.

“What have you done, Samael?” he asked quietly but he didn’t need an answer, “They were not worth it,” ‘they’ meaning Adam and Eve, I guessed. I was shaking but Samael kept his cool.

“It was right thing to do. And you know it.” ‘You’ was addressed to all present.

Others didn’t dare to speak, I barely dared to breath. Zachariah was brave enough to express their… our doubts aloud.

“No… I know no such thing,” he shook his head, “Hurting our brothers? Deceiving them? Why do that? A little patience, Samael, just a little more. You could convince Isaiah to wait, to hold him back a bit longer. Hairless apes would pluck the fruit eventually. And that we all know.” He sounded so disappointed. Back then it was the worst punishment for us cherubim, disappointed elder brother.

“Why waste time?” Samael was stubborn, “Why wait when we can take what is ours?”

“And what is it? Please tell! What have you got from it?” he didn’t say ‘we’. “How could you be so stupid?!”

“You don’t talk to me like that,” warned Samael reminding that he was the big brother. But Zachariah wasn’t intimidated. Their graces collided hard saying so much more than can be expressed in words.

“I talk to you however I want!” and that got Zachariah a slap in the face. Tiriel gasped in shock, Sion closed her eyes… Zachariah’s wings threw open. He looked hurt and would it be anyone else he would cast their eyes down, but it was Zachariah. He looked right at Samael and even smiled.

“I should go find Michael. And if you, my brothers, are as wise as you should be, you’ll come with me.” But we were all past ‘wise’, we were desperate.

“You are not going anywhere!” Samael wouldn’t turn around at this point, but you know how he is. And he’d never let any of us just walk away.

“Watch me,” said Zachariah through greeted teeth and turned to leave.

Samael reached for him, but he didn’t take him by his shoulder or by his arm. His hand disappeared between Zachariah’s upper and middle wing. And Zachariah just froze. Suddenly there was a nasty sound and Jegudiel cried out in terror. Samael’s hand was red, like he wore a red glove and it wasn’t empty. Something was moving. Yes, sister, yes… I wanted to scream, to run to my brother and… but what does it matter? I was paralyzed. But Zachariah didn’t even flinch when his heart was torn from him.

Samael realized what he had done only seconds later, looking at the bloody prize in his hand. He never looked so scared, not before, not after.

“Zachariah?” carefully called him Tiriel, trembling like a leaf.

Zachariah was confused. Pained. But then all of it was gone leaving a blank face as he exhaled.

“Please, brother… I didn’t…” Samael was crying.

“Of course you didn’t,” Zachariah wasn’t. He unclenched Samael’s fingers and took back his beating bleeding heart. “It hurts. What a stupid thing…” he squeezed it lightly.

“Zachariah…” Samael tried again helplessly.

“No, I don’t want to hear it,” but he wasn’t talking to Samael, that’s what I think. To our common horror Zachariah laughed. “I’m better off without you,” he said.

And then… then he dropped the heart on the ground. Samael rushed to pick it up but before he could Zachariah’s foot stepped on it. And… he tramped it down so furiously. Blood was flowing from his mouth, his ears, his nose, all of his eyes… his beautiful silver hair turned completely white to the last strand. And that cruel smile… Later I often saw it on Lucifer’s face, on Samael’s… on my own. Yes, sister, on yours too.

Samael was on his knees not daring to touch that bloody mess before him. His hands trembled above it. I physically felt how fragile the world around became, it was thinner than ice on a pond in early autumn morning – one step and you risk to drown.  

Zachariah bent down to Samael, painting his face with blood. He led his palms up and down Samael’s cheeks like eyeless, as if memorizing his features. He kissed Samael, you know, kissed him like lovers do. Not caring we were watching. Not caring God was probably watching too. It wasn’t a sin. It never was. Not for them. They didn’t know sin yet.

And then Zachariah whispered something to Samael before he left, something meant only for him. He left and Jegudiel was only one who followed him, if you remember.

I have no idea what Samael heard, but it enraged him. He screamed like it was his own heart trampled and violated. He took that bloody ball and threw it away.

It landed somewhere on Earth, crushing into million pieces. When human would find one it would stuck in his heart making a mortal greater, so much greater than he ever supposed to be. Good or evil was up to human, like it always is. But of course most of them were not saints. Those shards took the soul of the owner eventually and passed to another. And they called to each other. The more the piece became the more power it would give, but also weak-willed turned insane from the evil souls it consumed. Prophets, kings, warriors, wizards, even things like demons and vampires were affected. Many of their names are still known. Samael gathered more than half of it, he still searching for pieces, but he doesn’t see it as anything more than powerful artifact now. He trades it then gets it back to sell again. It’s a soul stone. A prison. Hell in a pocket. But it is still alive. I saw it, I heard its beating.

And Zachariah… you saw it for yourself. He’s a ruthless warrior, a loyal soldier and clever tactician. He still has a heart of eagle, watchful and vigilant, heart of an ox to withstand all the pain and move on and a lion heart, fearless and vengeful. He lost a human heart. Really, stupid thing like he said, worthless. It’s reckless and cowardly in the same time, conflicting. It causes too much pain.

But then again, it’s so much fun to play with. Right, sister?

* * *

“Hmm, sometimes,” Inoel agrees. Much like Asmodeus she became a demon of lust. “What if Zachariah gets his heart back?” she asks musingly.

That’s… actually a scary thought. It’s tainted, rough. And it contains power and memory of thousands souls. What if it returns to its owner? Will it kill him? It’s possible. Will it purify? Not likely. But it would certainly make Zachariah much stronger. How much stronger? Nobody knows how potent even one single soul is. And if it drives the seraph mad… well, the world is screwed in the most perverted way. He called it Hell in pocket. What if Hell starts to beat in your chest?..

“Danel,” Inoel calls. He asked not to call him that many times. Danel, Daniel… ‘God be my judge’.

“It’s not my name anymore. God can judge me no longer. He can’t judge any of us.”


End file.
